


Your Boy's a Fighter

by XtinaJones91



Category: Veep
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Other, Out of Character, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1701446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtinaJones91/pseuds/XtinaJones91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dan comes close to losing everything and it changes him, Amy comes close to admitting her feelings and it drives her crazy, and neither of them can behave like rational adults.</p><p> </p><p>"When Dan gets the phone call, his face turns a shade of white that Gary’s never seen before."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Call

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, this is my first work on AO3 and my first work for Veep. I was inspired by the fantastic Amy/Dan works on here and finally got around to writing my own. There's really not much else to say other than I hope you enjoy this story. I'm not sure yet how many chapters it will go, time will tell.

When Dan gets the phone call, his face turns a shade of white that Gary’s never seen before.

They’re all bustling about the office, preoccupied with ten different tasks at once. Sue’s yelling at an event planner over the phone and threatening to cut off their family jewels, Mike’s trying to post something on Selina’s Twitter account and failing miserably, Kent’s arguing with an intern about the colors they chose to use on a bar graph, Selina’s on the phone in her office arguing with Andrew over Lord knows what, and he’s rummaging through the Leviathan in search of a throat lozenge.

Dan is juggling two iPads and his cell phone in his hands, simultaneously chewing out a reporter while tracking approval ratings and editing a speech. He’s been intensely focused the last two months, working ridiculous hours and bulldozing his way through any campaign obstacle that arises. Today Gary notices for the first time that Dan looks tired, looks exhausted in fact, looks like he’s got the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. But then Dan continues to voraciously berate the reporter at the other end of his call and Gary remembers that Dan’s running a presidential campaign, of course he’s tired, they all are. But they’ll do their jobs.

He overhears (not very difficultly with the way he’s shouting) Dan tell the reporter to hold because he’s got another call coming in because he’s the goddamn campaign manager for the next president of the U.S.-of-fucking-A. and the reporter should remember who he’s dealing with the next time he tries to publish some bullshit story about Selina from Ryantology, and Gary sees more than hears what happens next.

Dan switches over to his incoming call, puts on what he calls his “smooth operator” voice, spiels “Dan Egan, Meyer campaign manager speaking, what can Meyer do for you?” and that’s when he goes white. It’s more of a translucent yellow he thinks, looking back on it. Either way, Dan is remarkably silent for the first time in weeks and looks like he’s going to faint. No one else notices right away, and Gary almost dismisses it, thinks Dan’s probably just overreacting to another absurd gossip story about Selina, but he remains silent. In fact, he’s not even moving, he’s frozen stiff, one hand holding his cell to his ear, the other somehow balancing the two glowing iPads.

Mike finally glances up from the couch where he’s frustratedly tapping on his phone and realizes something’s wrong.

“Woah, take a seat Danny Boy, you look like you just saw Ruth Bader Ginsberg skinny dipping with Nancy Pelosi.”

Dan doesn’t react, doesn’t acknowledge that he’s heard Mike. He mumbles something into his phone, clicks it off, and then just stares at it in his hand like it’s a foreign object.

Gary’s curiosity gets the better of him, and the part of him that’s starting to become legitimately concerned.

“What’s wrong, Dan?” he asks from his perch by Sue’s desk.

Dan blinks slowly and turns toward him as if he’s just realized where he is.

“Amy,” he chokes out. “It’s Amy.”

Gary stiffens. Sue whispers to the event planner that she’s very sorry, but she will have to resume yelling at them at a later date. Mike stands up. Kent shoos away the intern.

“What do you mean, Dan?” Gary asks as he tentatively approaches the clearly upset man.

Dan visibly struggles to form words.

“She’s…there’s been a…an…accident. Car accident.”

Something must snap within him at hearing the words aloud because suddenly campaign manager Dan briefly returns.

“I’ve got to get to the hospital.”

“What’s wrong with you? What do you have to go to the hospital for? Why are none of you _working_? Gary, I asked for that throat lozenge an _hour_ ago. What in the flying fuck is going on here?”

Selina’s voice cuts through the paralyzed silence that’s fallen over them.

“Amy’s been in a car accident, ma’am,” Gary says slowly.

“A… _what_? When did this happen?”

“Just now, ma’am. Well, Dan just got the call,” Mike pipes in quietly.

“I have to…I need to…I’ve got to go, ma’am,” Dan sputters.

Selina takes one look at him, must see the same desperation and helplessness in his eyes that Gary can see, and turns to Sue.

“Sue, cancel everything for today.”

“Yes, ma’am. What should I tell them?”

“Tell them it’s an emergency. A family emergency. Mike, get us an escort from the rear exit to…” she looks to Dan.

“Georgetown. They’re taking her to Georgetown.”

“A police escort to Georgetown, Mike.”

“On it, ma’am.”

“Gary, let’s be prepared for a late night, shall we?”

He offers a nod in response and dashes away to properly stock the Leviathan. He returns in less than two minutes to find the office a quiet, but tense, buzz of activity.

Sue pulls on her jacket as Mike leads Dan to the hall, Selina behind them with a Secret Service agent. He falls into a brisk step beside her.

They’re in the small limo and racing down the road in a matter of minutes. No one speaks, their usual banter and chatter missing for what should be just another police escort to another political event. But that’s not the circumstances at all.

Dan sits tensely in the back by the door, his hand gripping the armrest. He hasn’t spoken since telling Selina what hospital Amy is being taken to. Gary’s never seen Dan like this before, never seen him so quiet, so still, so lost. But that’s not what throws Gary off the most, that’s not what fills him with dread. It’s the look in Dan’s eyes that does that, makes his stomach drop and his palms sweat. Dan’s eyes are full of fear; he’s terrified.

Dan’s not afraid of anything.

 

* * *

 

He’s numb.

Can’t feel a fucking thing in his body except for the ice-cold fear coursing through his veins, pumping through his bloodstream, invading every last one of his cells.

Things happen in slow-motion freeze-time for him as soon as he answers the call and hears a police officer on the other end of the line. He can’t be sure of anything that’s happened since he heard the words that sent him tail spinning straight down into a foggy haze of confusion, desperation, pain, and fear.

_Jesus_ the fear is so real.

He’s never felt an emotion this utterly and completely before, not even the love he has for – it’s best not to think of that right now.

He senses the people around him as though they are on the other side of a thick, blurry glass wall looking in on him like the fucking pandas trapped in the DC zoo. Mike is there, and Gary and Sue, and hell, Selina’s even there which surprises him when it really shouldn’t. It shouldn’t surprise him at all; she called it a _family_ emergency, and he guesses that’s what this ass-backwards, sick and twisted, fucked up group of people is. They’re his family, the only one he’s got actually, ‘cause he sure as hell doesn’t count the one he left back in Bum-fuck, Ohio where he grew up.

So they’re all there, his family, except for the one person who matters the most to him out of all the egotistical ass-clowns, cock-sucking imbeciles, and soulless demons he’s met in this town. She’s been the only one who’s ever mattered since the beginning.

And if he doesn’t see her again, he might as well grab the gun off the nearest Secret Service agent, shove the cool sleek metal in his mouth and blow out his rising star. What would be the point, without her? He’d be nothing, and maybe that’s what he deserves.

He just needs to see her, dammit. Needs to get some fucking answers so he can be put out of his misery. He needs the fear to just _stop_. It’s consuming him, controlling him, and he’s always in control.

_Always_.


	2. Teddy Bears and Scotch

She’s not dead. She’s not dead, but they’ve been sitting in this hallway for six hours waiting for the surgery to be over, waiting to really know the truth.

Selina pulled some strings (you don’t have to pull very hard when you’re the Vice President of the United States of America) to get Amy moved to a private wing when she’s out of surgery, so they’ve been waiting undisturbed. The deep silence in this part of the hospital contrasts sharply with the commotion and cacophony of the ER. It didn’t help matters when he lost it on a nurse and people started snapping pictures of Selina. Gary and Mike had to drag him literally kicking and screaming down the hall.

It’s not one of his prouder moments, but they weren’t going to let him see her. So he told them exactly what he thought about their rules regarding non-spouses and non-family members, and he not so politely told them where they could shove those rules and that he’d find a way to prevent another cent of government money from ever landing in their pockets.

He’s still considering that last part. He doesn’t make empty threats.

He’s here with Mike and Gary now; they all take turns pacing and tapping their feet and resting their eyes while Sue silently observes them from her plastic chair on the other side of the hall. Selina left once everything was settled, which was for the best. She promised to send the first paparazzo or reporter who asked anything straight to Gitmo without a trial. Gary was under strict orders to call her with updates.

It’s nearing the seventh hour and he still can’t feel anything other than an oppressive sharpness in his chest when the doctor finally reemerges. He doesn’t want to look up, afraid to see what may or may not be written on the doctor’s face.

“Mr. Egan?”

He swallows, bites the bullet and raises his eyes.

“She’s going to make it. She has a few broken bones and she lost a lot of blood from some deep gashes. It was touch-and-go for a little while, but she pulled through it.”

“And the…the baby?” he somehow chokes out over the lump forming in his throat. They’ve made it over the first hump; Amy is _alive_. But this…it would destroy them both.

“The baby is just fine! There weren’t any complications and we monitored him very closely during the surgery. Your boy’s a fighter,” the doctor says, clapping him on the back.

“My…a boy?”

“Yes, you’re going to have a son. Did you not know? I’m so sorry for ruining the surprise!”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. Thank you, doctor. Thank you.”

The doctor leaves and Gary and Mike pat him on the back in congratulations and Sue pulls him into a hug that he doesn’t shrug away from. He’s pretty sure he’s laughing and crying at the same time, but he can’t stop doing either and he doesn’t care.

 

* * *

 

The first time Amy comes-to after the crash and the surgery is a little hazy. There are definitely still drugs in her system because she feels tingly and groggy and it’s so hard to keep her eyes open.

It’s dark in the room; the only light comes in from the hallway through the small window of the door. She blinks heavily a few times, turns her head slowly…and sees Dan. At least she thinks it’s Dan. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but she’d recognize his silhouette anywhere.

He’s awkwardly sprawled out in a hospital chair, stubble forming on his face, still in his dress shirt and pants. He’ll hate that he’s wrinkled his suit jacket, she thinks to herself. It’s bunched up in a ball and wedged between his head and the chair. His navy blue tie dangles loosely around his neck; it was a good color on him she told him once, at a rally another lifetime ago.

Her eyelids grow heavy and she fights to keep them open but she’s just so damn tired. She wants to take this in, wants to remember Dan being here, but the drugs start to pull her back under.

The last thing she sees before succumbing to drug-induced slumber is a small teddy bear in a blue shirt dangling from Dan’s right hand. She feels a soft weight resting on her own right hand and she latches onto it as she descends into the darkness once again.

 

* * *

 

The next time she comes-to it’s to bright lights and a doctor leaning over her and _fuck_ the drugs must be wearing off because her left arm is throbbing in time with her head.

“Can you hear me, Ms. Brookheimer? Do you know where you are?”

She blinks a few times, slowly sits up, regrets that decision but fights through the pain. The doctor comes into focus.

“I can hear you alright, doc. And I’m in a hospital somewhere in DC, not sure which one though. Can I get something for the headache raging in my skull right now?”

“Of course, Ms. Brookheimer. We just have to run a few tests, make sure everything’s ok – ”

“The baby!” she exclaims in a moment of clarity.

Jesus Christ, the baby. Her right hand falls reflexively to her stomach. She feels bile rising in her throat. If...if…she can’t form the thought.

“Ms. Brookheimer, Amy,” the doctor begins soothingly.

That’s the tone they use when the news is bad, she’s sure of it. She can’t bring herself to look at the doctor. She feels…hollow, feels the air sucked from her lungs, feels –

“Amy, the baby is perfectly fine. He got a little jostled during the crash, but as I told Mr. Egan, your son is a tough little guy and made it through the trauma and the surgery with flying colors. We’ll be monitoring you both closely, of course, and bed rest may be recommended upon your release from the hospital just to be safe, but in three months you’ll have a healthy baby boy.”

A boy. Dan’s going to be so fucking smug about that, is her first thought. And then, thank God. Relief floods through her, relief and joy.

“Thank you, doctor.”

“No need to thank me, Amy. You’re a very lucky lady. And your actions contributed a great deal to the positive outcome,” he says, gesturing to her gauze-swaddled left arm.

That explains a lot. She recalls bracing for the impact of the oncoming car; remembers having only one thought: save the baby; remembers curling over herself trying to shield her stomach.

The last thing she saw before the collision, before the blinding agony and the blood and the darkness was Dan. His lopsided grin is what flashed before her eyes when she thought it was the end. She’ll take that to her grave though; she’ll never tell him that the last thing she saw before the paramedics put her under was the bright blue sky cloudless sky and it reminded her of his eyes.

 

* * *

 

She confirms that her hazy, drug-induced nighttime vision of Dan wasn’t a vision at all; the teddy bear in the blue shirt is tucked behind several vases of flowers and a row of ‘Get Well Soon’ cards on the windowsill by her bed.

She holds it in her hands, contemplates it, feels its soft brown fur under her palms. She knows she’s crazy, staring at this teddy bear and trying to figure out what it means, but she’s at a loss when it comes to Dan. Doesn’t know if she should punch him or embrace him every time she sees him, scream at him or kiss him any time he opens his mouth, doesn’t know if she loves or loathes him or feels a dangerous cocktail of both emotions.

Dan Egan is her fucking kryptonite some days and her Jerry Maguire other days. He’s a goddamn enigma, a puzzle she can’t solve, a challenge she can’t overcome, and that frustrates her to no end. Her day-to-day job is fixing shit, turning clusterfucks into golden opportunities; it’s what she was born to do. Yet no matter how many times she puts these skills to use during Selina’s campaign and career, she can’t get her own fucking life together. And now she’s in the biggest shit-storm of her life with her and Dan standing in the center of it while the vortex of crap swirls around them and grows closer and closer, regrets, missed opportunities, dodging their feelings, hurting each other as a defense mechanism, their careers, their uncertain future, decisions and moments they can’t take back all mixing together.

She doesn’t know what she wants anymore, from Dan, from her career, from herself. Ironically, the only thing she knows she wants, the only thing she’s sure of, is what set her careening off course. Somehow this baby, her unborn son, has become everything, has become the only thing.

It’s laughable, really. She doesn’t even recognize this Amy Brookheimer, the one who’s knocked up with the love of her life’s baby but is too afraid to let him in, to be with him. So instead she pushes him away, breaks him in the hopes that he’ll hate her and see her for what she really is and will realize that he’s better off without her. It’s her own damn fault, at the end of the day, what happened between them.

She clutches the bear tightly in her hands, smiles at it sadly, places it on the small table next to her hospital bed.

It’s enough, she tells herself. It will be enough.

 

* * *

 

Dan spends two nights at the hospital while Amy’s still in her medically induced coma. Mike picks him up at some ungodly hour in the morning on the day the doctors decide to ease her out of it. He drops Dan off at his apartment with a cup of fresh coffee and a bagel from the diner near his place.

“It’ll be better than the sludge at the hospital,” Mike says when he pulls into the diner.

Dan chuckles, thanks Mike when he returns to the car with the steaming cups and the bagel.

“Give me a call if you, you know, need anything,” Mike says out the car window before he drives away.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” he replies.

He doesn’t miss the look of surprise on Mike’s face or the pity in his eyes. They all look at him like that, like he’s some fucking sad puppy that got kicked around by its owner. He hates it, but he can’t do anything about it.

The problem with their team being so close is that everyone knows way too much about each other’s personal lives. It doesn’t help that the day Amy blew up at him, told him to leave her alone, stop pretending they were together and that everything was going to work out, happened on the campaign trail in a hotel room with too-thin walls. It’s hard to look your co-workers in the eye after something like that, and lesser men (or maybe better men) would have left the job. But if there’s one thing Dan Egan’s good at (other than screwing, of course), it’s shoving aside human emotions and doing his damn job.

So he stayed. And if he stops working, he’ll lose it. The campaign is where he pours all his anger and frustration and self-loathing. His fuck-ups and his cowardice in his personal life fuel his ability to blaze a path for Selina straight into the Oval Office. He can’t be assertive and defiant when it comes to the things he wants for himself, but he’ll get Selina a presidency by sheer force of will if he has to.

And he’ll go to work tomorrow like everything’s fine. It’s what he’s been pretending for two-and-a-half months already, he can do it tomorrow and the week after that and the months after that and through the whole damn campaign and beyond if he has to.

It’s second nature to him now.

So he climbs the steps to his apartment, plunks the coffee and the bagel untouched onto his counter, sheds his ridiculously wrinkled suit jacket (he’ll have to take that to the cleaner’s this weekend or send Gary or something), opens his liquor cabinet, pours a full glass of scotch, kicks off his dress shoes in the hall, pads into his bedroom, and sinks down onto the edge of the bed.

He twirls the glass of scotch in his hands for a while, watches the amber liquid slosh up and down the sides of the cup. He wants to down this drink and then another and another and another until the bottle’s empty and he feels as numb as he did on the ride to the hospital. But that’s not what he does. He doesn’t even toss back the first drink.

He leaves it on his dresser and opens his sock drawer. Buried underneath his black silk socks for work and his thick white socks for the gym he finds what he’s looking for. It’s a small, thin square box, slightly bigger than one that might hold a necklace. He sits back down on the bed and grasps it tightly for a moment. He closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and opens the box.

His fingers ghost over the soft material inside and he allows himself this one brief instance to let the fear back in, let it take control. He counts to five and then he snaps the box close. He buries it back underneath his socks and leaves the room.

He could have lost them both, Amy and their son. He never wants to feel that powerless again.

The glass of scotch remains on the dresser untouched.


	3. Confrontational

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the kudos and comments so far! I hope you're enjoying the angst-fest that is Amy and Dan. I realized that they might be behaving a little out of character, but being in this situation would probably drive them out of their comfort zones. At least that's what I'm trying to convey. Turns out writing serious Veep is a bit challenging. But that's why it's fun! Anyways, here's the next chapter. Shit gets real.

She finally gets to leave the hospital after almost two weeks. She’s losing her mind with boredom, and her mother stole her cell phone when she caught her trying to email Mike speech notes for an upcoming rally. Her mom’s not the one bringing her home thankfully (she shipped her off yesterday after much arguing); it’s Gary wheeling her down the hall with a box of cards and gifts tucked under his arm. She’s got another box perched on the edge of her lap, the teddy bear tucked away at the bottom. Gary grudgingly accepted her request to pop all the balloons floating obnoxiously in her room and she’s grateful for such a true friend.

They’re in Selina’s town car on the way to her apartment when she gets enough courage to ask the question that’s been burning in her throat since she woke up.

“So…you’ve told me about everyone else, what they’re up to but…uh…how’s Dan?”

She tries to sound casual, like she’s politely interested, but she knows Gary sees right through her mountain of bullshit.

“He’s…good. You know him, chugging Red Bulls and eviscerating members of the press and whatnot.”

So he’s been at work, has been seeing them all on a daily basis.

“Has he…said anything about me? Tried to visit or…asked how I was doing?”

Gary is silent and she sees the internal debate he’s having with himself. She knows she’ll win. Gary may be afraid of Dan’s wrath, but his loyalty ultimately lies with her; they’ve known each other longer, started with Selina together. He sighs and she knows victory is hers.

“Well, he was there when they first brought you in actually. He got into a bit of a fight with this nurse who wouldn’t let him see you. It’s funny now, of course, but wasn’t really at the time. Anyways, a few of us were there in the beginning, even Selina, but she left to distract the paparazzi and the press. Mike, Sue, Dan, and I were there the first night. We took turns watching him while he sat with you. Then he stayed the second night too, before they took you off the drugs and everything. We tried to get him to go home for a little while in between, but he refused.”

“Oh.”

Gary seems unsure if he should continue but barrels forward when she does nothing to stop him.

“He asks about you every morning, you know,” he begins cautiously. “He demands an update from whoever visited you most recently.”

He hesitates.

“I also think he’s been having Sue call your doctor pretending to be your OB/GYN.”

That bastard. Part of her is furious that he’s going behind her back and making Sue lie to find out personal information, but another part of her finds it kind of romantic in a fucked up way.

“Thanks, Gary.”

He just nods, and looks like he’s going to say something else.

When he doesn’t after several long minutes of staring at her, she snaps.

“What is it, Gary?”

He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, closes it.

“Spit it out for Christ’s sake!”

He flinches.

“Dan’sinlovewithyougivehimasecondchance.”

“Was that English?”

He takes a deep breath.

“I said, Dan is clearly in love with you, we all know it. Why can’t you just give him another chance? Start things over?”

The list of reasons why she and Dan would never work is pages long; she could write a book longer than a fucking Stephen King novel with all of them. And after everything that’s happened between them, the failed attempts at relationships, their inability to let each other in, a mutual fear of commitment…it’s too much to overcome.

At least that’s what she tells herself when her mind drifts and starts to list all the reasons why they actually would be fucking brilliant together. They’d be incendiary and they both know it. They’d bring DC to its knees if they ever got together, really got together and did the whole thing right. Dating, an engagement, marriage, a baby, interviews, power plays, governorships, congressional races, rocketing up the political ladder and through the fucking glass ceiling. They’d run the damn world, she’s seen it in her head, but that will never come to be.

She sighs, runs her hand over her face, rolls her eyes for good measure.

“Gary, the chances of Dan and I getting back together are about as high as…Jonah becoming President of the United States. It’ll never fucking happen, and if it does, everyone should swallow some Jonestown Kool-Aid together or flee to Canada. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Gary looks crestfallen and a little bit disturbed.

“Look, Dan and I…we had our chance, more than one in fact, and we couldn’t make it work. Just because I’m having a baby that happens to be half his doesn’t mean everything’s rainbows and goddamn butterflies now. It’s over, Gary. That’s how it has to be.”

Gary doesn’t mention Dan for the rest of the car ride.

 

* * *

 

She returns to work after a week of bed rest, self-diagnosing that she's well enough to get the hell out of her apartment and go sit at her desk in the office. If she spent one more hour confined to that tiny box, her mother making the phone ring off the hook, she was going to commit herself to an institution. 

She knows that this is a bad idea. Carrying on her normal duties while six months pregnant is challenging enough, but attempting it after sustaining severe injuries in a car accident is borderline insanity. Damn sanity and rationality and common sense to hell, she thinks. That's what she did when she slept with Dan and got knocked up and allowed him to quasi-date her for two months. 

Suspending reality is working out fucking fantastically for her. 

So she goes into work Monday morning, a little later than usual so she's probably missed a few meetings but whatever. It's not like less than half of them are ever productive. She's been a workaholic since college; it's not something she can turn off. 

Sue quirks an eyebrow up at her when she sees her walk in, but shows no other signs of interest in her appearance. The office is weirdly quiet. 

"Where is everyone?" she asks an intern who's name she could give two shits about. 

The intern is startled, seemingly shocked that someone is actually speaking to them and acknowledging their existence. 

"Uh...um...I'm not entirely sure ma'am. There's a bunch of meetings and a congressional hearing and a speech at the middle school and –"

"I got it. Everyone's busy doing their jobs. And why are you here and not at one of those fun events?"

"I'm holding down the fort with Sue, ma'am," the intern replies, puffing out his chest like he's got the most important job in the world. 

She shoots a quick glance at Sue who rolls her eyes. 

For once luck is on her side and no one's here to make a big deal over her or crack asinine jokes or question her ability to do her job while carrying the spawn of Satan. No Dan in the office means no awkward tension, no overly professional and polite small talk, no accidentally meeting each other's eyes across the room when they think the other one isn't looking. And absolutely no discussing that he allegedly lost his shit when he found out about the accident and didn't leave the hospital for two straight days and may or may not have purchased an admittedly adorable teddy bear for her – their? – son. 

Yeah, she's totally been able to process that heaping pile of mental and emotional what-the-fuck. 

She settles in at her desk, tucked away from the frivolous intern. She has a personal rule about interacting with the interns: a maximum of two minutes, less than that if possible. 

Her computer hums to life and she starts sorting through the day's emails, dumping them into folders based on their importance. She's developed her own email DEFCON system that impresses even Sue, especially the filter that sends all of Jonah's emails directly into 'Trash.'

There's not much of consequence for her to deal with which is a nice respite from the usual political forest fires she has to put out on a daily basis. As she types at her keyboard and shoots a few schedule confirmation emails to Sue she absentmindedly scratches at the large cast on her left arm. The thing's a damn nuisance, but she's grateful her fingers poke out at the end so she can still type at lightning speed. 

Her co-workers had suggested various colors for the cast, but she'd settled with the customary white. Mike had attempted to covertly doodle a penis on it several times already without any success.

She's halfway through checking the newswires and social media for any potentially harmful stories about Selina when she hears his voice, booming and angry, in the hallway. 

"I don't care that you have a deadline and that gossip moves papers. If you so much as print, type, or read aloud a single word about Amy Brookheimer that says anything other than how goddamn effectively she's running Selina's campaign – we're co-campaign mangers you shithead – then I'll blacklist you from every White House press corps announcement for the next fucking decade and call every contact you have in this city to tell them about that ethical violation in grad school you thought you buried. Yeah, I know what you did at Columbia in 2005. I can't believe the governor's wife let you – I knew you'd come around, Jimbo. Now when would you like to speak to the Veep about a cover piece for next month? You'll set something up with Sue? Great. Pleasure talking to you as always, Jim. And don't forget to vote Meyer in the election!"

Dan swears under his breath when he gets off the phone and looks over at Sue. 

"Did Amy call?"

"No, but she's –"

"Did her doctor call?"

"No, but she's –"

"Could you call her and see –"

"I'm right here, Dan!" she exclaims, rising from her chair.

Dan spins toward her voice so quickly she thinks he must have pulled a muscle in his neck. The look of surprise on his face would be comical if it didn't instantly turn to rage. 

" _What the hell are you doing here?_ " he seethes. "You're supposed to be on bed rest for another two weeks."

"I can sit in a desk chair here just as well as I can sit in one at home, Daniel. And how the hell do you even know how long I'm supposed to be on bed rest? Have you been fucking spying on me while I've been in the hospital? You didn't have the balls to visit me so you made everyone else report back to you or something? That's pathetic, Dan. Jonah visited me, Dan. _Jonah_. More than once. My ex-boyfriend who I humiliated by getting knocked up with another guy's baby came to see me, for Christ's sake. But not you, Dan. So don't you fucking dare try to tell me that I can't be in this office right now. You don't have the right."

Dan's face fluctuates between red and white and settles on pink by the time her outburst is over. His body has gone rigid and for a moment he looks like she just stabbed him in the heart. The look appears and disappears so quickly she thinks she imagined it. 

For a long moment no one speaks. 

"The baby is half mine, Amy. I think I've got the right to know what's going on and to make sure you're not endangering the life of my child," Dan grits out through clenched teeth, his voice steely and cold. 

"So it's your baby when it's convenient for you to use that fact against me, but it means nothing to you when you can't use it for your own benefit?"

Sue actually gasps. The intern is nowhere to be seen. Dan's fists clench. 

She doesn't know what's gotten into her, what's making her push Dan to his limits. 

He steps toward her desk, eyes blazing. 

"Our son is the only thing in my life that means anything to me. I don't care how this campaign will end. I'm just doing a damn job. You're the one who pushed me away, Amy. You're the one who told me to stop acting like your boyfriend and start acting like your co-worker. I'm just doing my best to do what you asked of me, no matter how difficult it is for me to see you everyday and not be with you, no matter how much it kills me that I can't be there whenever something happens with the baby. What else would you expect me to do when you've cut me out of your life? What the fuck do you want from me, Amy? Because I don't know what more I can do."

“You could leave.”

Seriously, what the fuck is she doing.

Dan gapes at her, looks at her like he doesn’t recognize her.

She’s never seen him so flustered before, so lost.

“You want me to…leave?” Dan asks in a low voice. “As in…leave the office or…leave the campaign?”

She puts on a voice that she hopes sounds braver and surer of herself than she feels.

“I think that would be best, don’t you? I mean, it’s clear this arrangement isn’t working out. It’s damaging to the campaign.”

Dan’s jaw tenses, his whole body tenses.

“Right, the campaign. Wouldn’t want to ruin the campaign. I’ll, uh, get in touch with some of my contacts, probably find something by the end of the week, and then I’ll…be out of your way. Sure. No problem. Whatever you want.”

He doesn’t fight her at all even though she’s just asked him to give up his job and, potentially, his career. She’s shocked and confused and a little bit hurt that he’s going to walk away that easily.

“Uh…great. Thanks. I’ll make sure you get a good recommendation from Selina.”

Dan’s brow furrows slightly.

“I’ll talk to Selina myself, thanks.”

“Sure, of course.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, a nervous habit of his she picked up on within their first week of working together.

“Well, I’m gonna go. Gotta start the job hunt,” Dan shrugs. “If you, you know, need anything…you know how to reach me.”

She nods, not trusting herself to speak.

“Have a good night, Sue,” Dan says, turning toward the secretary.

“You too, Dan,” Sue responds with an affection that catches her by surprise.

Since when did Sue like Dan? Since when did any of them like Dan? She had to pressure Gary to give her information about him, Mike was even more tight-lipped, hell, even Jonah hadn’t bad-mouthed Dan. Were they all on his side? Had she done this?

She watched as Dan walked away, noticed how the perfectly tailored shoulders of his suit slumped when he got to the doorway, felt her heart rate increase as he paused and then turned back.

“You might not believe me, Amy, or maybe you do deep down and you’re just too afraid to admit it, but I care about you. Hell, I’m in love with you. This is a shitty time to confess that, but it’s true. And if you ever change your mind…I’ll be waiting.”

Then he stepped into the hallway and was gone.

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

Sue’s voice breaks through the silence and startles her from her paralyzed position at her desk.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Well, whatever it was, you better fix it. Because that fool of a man loves you and your kid and everyone in this office seems to know it but you. You cannot be that stupid. So fix it. And when you do, leave me out of it please.”

She doesn’t respond to Sue. She slowly sits back down at her desk and tries to work, tries to ignore how her hands shake and how she can’t focus on anything.

All she can see is the look on Dan’s face when she told him to leave.


	4. Cold Shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the long delay on this chapter! Thank you to all the wonderful people who have read this, left kudos, and/or commented. I've got another chapter written and another about halfway done, so keep an eye out for those soon.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Slight trigger warning: mentions of attempted suicide.

_Two months earlier…_

He wakes to an incessant pounding that he’s not sure is inside his skull, at his front door, or both. He blearily opens an eye and almost pukes when the sunlight makes contact with his retina. He’s 99.9% sure he’s still wasted. Judging by the abomination that is the sun, it must be…some time after the sun rises. Yes. It must be daytime. He is proud of this deduction.

Good God, the pounding. It’s not going away.

He flails around blindly for his pillow, makes contact with it, and pulls it over his head. Ahhh, sweet darkness. He wants to curl up in it, bury himself in this black pit and never come out. There’d be no more pounding, no more sun, no more A– no. He will not think of that. Of her.

He needs more liquor. Liquor for breakfast. Perhaps later, after he’s gone back into the sweet, welcoming blackness for a little while.

There’s shouting now. Why is there shouting? He just wants some fucking peace. Just leave him alone.

The shouting stops. There is a God. He believes. And now he will succumb to the dark. It’s so close, it’s right there, just beyond his reach. He’ll just go there for a little while. Nothing will hurt there. He’ll be numb, won’t feel a thing.

The shouting is back. It’s closer. He’s gotta go, gotta reach the darkness before they find him. He’s so close, he has to go, he has to, he has to…

He comes-to screaming on the floor of his shower, choking on ice water.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_!”

“Top of the morning, Danny Boy.”

No. It can’t be. This must be a dream. No, a nightmare.

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?” he splutters through the water, looking up through the spray for his attacker.

Jonah’s stupid giant head looms over him through the open shower door.

“You seemed to be attempting that pretty well on your own, douche-nozzle. We were rescuing you from your ‘Whiskey Lullaby’ moment.”

“Whiskey lullaby…we…douche-nozzle…what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know, ‘Whiskey Lullaby,’ the classic suicide-themed country duet song where the guy can’t be with the girl so he gets drunks and he sh–“

“Shut up, Jonad,” a second voice floats down to him. “How do you even know that song?”

A hand reaches into the shower and turns off the water. He’s grateful but still shivering like a junkie who needs a fix.

“Would you get me out of this goddamn shower?” he stutters through chattering teeth.

The hand that ended his water boarding misery extends down and pulls him up by the arm. The hand is dotted with freckles, so that means…

“McClintock, at your service. Here’s a towel.”

He accepts gratefully and steps out of the shower, shivering and dripping wet. He runs the towel through his hair and wraps it around his body.

“Okay, two questions. One, why are you bozos in my apartment right now? Two, how the hell did you get _in_ my apartment? And three – yes, Jonah, I added a fucking question – why the _fuck_ were you drowning me in my shower?”

Mike and Jonah glance at each other and then drop their eyes to the tiled floor.

“Well, you see…” Mike begins.

“After last night and everything when you went way off the rails on the crazy train – ouch! What was that for, Mike?”

“You’re tone of voice isn’t helping! You’re not supposed to make fun of someone who’s…someone who’s tried to…you’re not helping.”

“You guys think I was trying to kill myself?”

Their silence is answer enough.

“No one drinks that much whiskey and scotch straight without the intent to seriously fuck themselves up.”

“Plus some of the stuff you were saying last night…and you weren’t picking up your phone this morning…we were just checking up on you.”

Checking up on him. Great. Now they all thought he was the pathetic guy dumped by his girlfriend who was too heartbroken to function and needed to be on goddamn suicide watch or something. Just fucking great.

“Look guys, I’m fine. We all drink too much every once in a while, we get blasted and we pay for it the next day. That’s all it was, okay? I don’t need you babysitting me. I’m a grown man, I’ll deal with my own shit.”

“Yeah, it looked like you were dealing with it pretty well last night when you passed out in the street and we had to drag you six blocks to your apartment. And you were definitely handling your shit exceptionally well this morning, Mr. ‘I’ll-Just-be-Unconscious-and-Barely-Breathing-When-My-Buddies-Break-Down-the-Door.’ Yeah, you’ve definitely got it all together, Dan.”

He punches Jonah square in the jaw.

Ten minutes later, he’s sitting on the opposite end of his couch from Jonah and they’re both nursing their faces with bags of frozen vegetables. Mike stands between them like the referee in a prize fight.

“Are you ladies going to behave now?”

They glare at each other through blackened eyes but nod grudgingly.

"He hit me first," Jonah whines, and Dan almost punches him again. 

"You sound like a fucking two-year-old," he grumbles instead from beneath his bag of frozen peas. 

"Boys," Mike interrupts. "Please untwist your panties and behave like men."

Jonah slouches deeper into the couch and glares at him. If his face didn't hurt so much he'd roll his eyes; for a 7-foot gangly monkey, Jonah hits pretty hard. 

Mike seems satisfied with the detente they've reached. He turns to Dan first. 

"We didn't come here to assault you or invade your privacy, Dan. We were legitimately concerned and just wanted to have your back. I know you think we're both incompetent losers and you can't stand being around us...but we're all still a team at the end of the day whether we like it or not. We gotta pick each other up when things go badly, and what happened the other night...well, it was really shitty. So...here we are. Picking you up," Mike says, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Jesus, Mike. You make it sound like we want to take him out on a date."

"It was a sports metaphor, not a come-on!"

"Oh, it sounds like you want Dan to cum on your–"

"Shut up, Jonah. Just shut the fuck up for once in your sad, meaningless, irrelevant life! _You_ were the one who suggested we come over here in the first place! _You_ were the one who was freaking out when we found him passed out! Now you're trying to pretend you don't give a shit! Cut the crap or get the fuck out of here."

This is an interesting development and he's never been more impressed with Mike than he is right now. Mike is legitimately pissed and it's kind of terrifying. 

He reaches a sudden realization. 

Mike is his friend. 

Something shifts inside him, clicks into place. Someone cares about what happens to him, someone has his back. He shouldn't throw that away. 

"Mike?"

Mike turns away from death-staring down Jonah. 

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He gets up and claps Mike on the back and heads for the kitchen; he's going to need an entire pot of coffee to tolerate an extended amount of time in Jonah's presence. He gets the feeling he won't be getting rid of either of them any time soon today, and he's okay with that. 

They are a team after-all.

 


	5. Across the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a little on the shorter side, next chapter will be more substantial.
> 
> Enjoy and thanks again for your readership!

Dan's absence shouldn't affect her, seeing as she was the one who told him to leave and all, but it does. She gets a heaping dose of "you don't know what you've got 'till it's gone" and then some. 

No one knows where he is, or if they do they aren't telling her. There's only so many ways she can casually drop a question about him into conversation until she sounds pathetic and stalkerish. Everyone is slightly dodgy around her and she wonders when that changed, when she made them want to pull back around her. 

She throws herself into work, her old standby of default behavior. Don't deal with the situation, don't acknowledge the deeper issues, don't engage the emotions. Suppress, deny, ignore: her motto, her mantra. 

* * *

She crosses the seven-month mark in her pregnancy without any fanfare.

And without Dan.

She attends another appointment alone and endures another round of pitying stares from the nurse and the doctor and the ultrasound tech and even some of the other women in the waiting room. Screw them, she thinks. They don't know her. They don't understand. 

She feels guilty the whole time, feels desperately alone, and it doesn't have to be this way. But she's made it so, has made her bed and now has to lie in it. 

And what a fucking stupid idiom that is. If you make the bed, isn't the whole point to lie the fuck down in it and sleep?

She leaves the appointment with a new set of ultrasound pictures and she wants to call Dan, wants to hear his voice in her ear, wants his hand on the small of her back, wants his confident stride in step with hers. 

Instead she calls her mother because it's best when she controls the conversation and if she doesn't call every week or so her mother assumes she's died and will appear at her apartment uninvited.

And her week goes on. 

* * *

It's nearly a month before she sees him again. She notices the slope of his shoulders from across a crowded function room at a random DC philanthropy event. Selina donates to whatever the fuck the charity is, so the whole team is dragged along. Normally she'd take advantage of an event like this to get drunk and poke fun at stodgy political bigwigs, but she feels like an awkward whale and is ready to leave after an hour. She's about to do just that, peace the fuck out and spend the night analyzing polling data, when she sees him. 

Or, more accurately, senses him. The feeling of his gaze is familiar despite the long stretch of time that's passed since she was last at the receiving end of it, and she locates him quickly through the ebb and flow of the buzzing crowd. There is a brief moment where their eyes meet, long enough for her to catch him unguarded. But then he realizes he's been discovered and he turns away, disappearing into a sea of dark tuxedos and glimmering gowns. 

Later that night as she sits awake in bed, failing miserably at concentrating on Kent's latest campaign data packet, she wonders if she imagined him, if he was even there at all. That's just what she needs in her life right now: hallucinations. She knows she's kidding herself. 

The haunted emptiness of Dan's eyes was real enough.


End file.
